


When Love Speaks

by Allison_Wonderland



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Valentine's Day, it's a mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22728175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allison_Wonderland/pseuds/Allison_Wonderland
Summary: A mysterious admirer is leaving Phryne gifts. Is all as it seems?
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 79





	When Love Speaks

It was very unusual for Phryne to be up so early but the heat of mid-February was so oppressive in Melbourne this year that even she found the value in waking a few hours early to have some relative cool. So it was Phryne herself rather than Mr. Butler or Dot who opened the door that morning for her newspaper but instead found a rather macabre bouquet, stems wrapped in a lovely bow but no actual flowers upon them. It truly startled her, to the point that she stood staring at the flowers until she felt Dot come up behind her.

“Miss?” Dot peered over her shoulder, looking for whatever had her usually unflappable Miss, well, flapped. “Oh who would do such a thing?” Dot was horrified and bent to remove the detritus. 

“Don’t touch them, Dot.” Phryne croaked out. “They may have something else wrong with them. Hand me some gloves and fetch a box, please.”

Dot did as she was asked and the mess of stems was placed into a box. Upon further inspection, a typewritten note was tied to the bow.

_From your Secret Admirer_

~*~

Over a cup of very strong Turkish coffee, Phryne puzzled over that morning’s delivery. She ran through her list of current enemies but found none that would take the time and the energy for such a plan. Nor could she think of any spurned lovers who could be wanting revenge and the only prospective lover she currently had was a certain Detective Inspector leading her on a very long dance. She sighed to herself. Too bad Jack had left for Geelong for the week to testify in an old case, this would have been a glorious opportunity to entice him into making a move.

She was so deep in thought she didn’t hear the doorbell ring, nor Mr. Butler approaching until he was directly in front of her, bearing a package. She took it and set to opening it absentmindedly and without thought to her earlier morning package. The wrappings fell away to reveal a box of Hillier’s Chocolates and to her horror, another typed note, identical to the first. 

In a flash, she was on the telephone, putting a call through to Mac and praying she was in her office that early. To Phryne’s eternal thanks, Mac was. 

“You’re up early,” Mac quipped dryly.

“I have a problem.” Phryne said without preamble. 

There was a pregnant pause before Mac continued.

“Are you sure you want to have this conversation over the telephone? You’re usually more careful than this. In more ways than one.” Mac stressed the last part. Phryne was silent for several long moments before she connected the dots.

“What? No!” Phryne gave a little laugh. “Not that. In fact, I’m distinctly in danger of developing that wandering womb you keep talking about. But that’s not why I’m calling. I think someone is trying to poison me.”

“Actively?” Mac’s tone of voice changed swiftly to doctor mode. “What are your symptoms?”

“Not actively, no. Someone sent me a box of chocolates.” 

“And thus you think someone is trying to poison you. Phryne, I think you’ve been a detective for too long.”

“The chocolates were preceded by a bouquet of dead flowers. Both marked from a secret admirer.” 

Mac heaved an impressively heavy sigh. 

“Nothing can be easy with you, can it? Bring them by, I’ll take a look.”

~*~

The sharp clack of heels gave Mac at least the slightest warning before the morgue door was flung open to admit the whirling dervish that was her best friend.

“Hullo, Mac!” 

Without preamble, Mac took the box out of her hands and set it on the exam table before donning gloves and setting to work. She examined the box itself and each chocolate individually, looking for any signs of tampering, being very thorough and ignoring Phryne tapping her foot impatiently. Not seeing any outward issues, Mac took one of her scalpels and sliced several chocolates open. Again, no signs of issues. No odd smells, no unexpected liquids. Coming to a conclusion, she removed her gloves.

“From what I can tell, nothing was done to these. Obviously, I won’t be able to tell for sure unless I do some full scale tests but there’s nothing that stands out.” Mac crossed her arms and leaned against the table. “Now who’s mad at you?”

“I don’t know Mac, I honestly don’t know.”

“And you’re sure you’re not overreacting?” 

To that, she had no answer.

~*~

Feeling the slightest bit silly, Phryne sulked out of the morgue and back to her car. Maybe Mac was right, maybe her detective mind was looking for trouble where there was none to be had.

There, in the front seat, lay a single long stemmed red rose with a now familiar card tied to it. This one was slightly different, a verse upon it.

_Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind._  
_And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind._

_From your Secret Admirer_

Suddenly, she didn’t feel so silly anymore. Now she was angry, someone was stalking and threatening her and she was going to make them pay. Her hands clenched, ready to take out her unknown foe.

“Ouch!” In her anger, she had grasped the rose and met a thorn instead of just stem. She ripped off her glove and glared at the swell of blood that bubbled up from the tip of her finger. First blood shed. This meant war.

~*~

But instead of riding to war as expected, Phryne later sat at home, seething. She had gone to drop off the notes and other evidence off to City South only to find out that Hugh had gone off on an assignment. And with Jack gone, she just didn’t feel comfortable leaving the evidence with anyone else. So, now in her parlour, all of the notes and gifts laid out in a row, she contemplated her latest mystery until Mr. Butler appeared in the doorway.

“The Inspector, Miss.” 

“Jack!” Phryne felt her face light up and she jumped up to greet him. “I thought you wouldn’t be home until the end of the week.”

“They negotiated a plea deal. I got there and turned right around and came back again. Have you had a good day?”

“I have not.” Her pronouncement was so blunt, it startled him. 

“Whyever not? Didn’t you like the flowers?” Phryne looked at him, nonplussed. 

“YOU sent the flowers? These flowers?” With a dramatic flourish, Phryne whipped the lid off the box, exposing the pitiful stems.

“What the devil happened to these?” Jack’s voice was shocked. “I left them on the step before I caught the train and they most certainly didn’t look like this.” 

“And the chocolates and the rose?” He nodded. 

“All from ‘Your Secret Admirer’?” Jack looked sheepish.

“It is Valentine’s Day after all and since I wasn’t going to be here and I thought we were moving toward something, I arranged for some help. I was trying to be romantic.” 

Phryne couldn’t help but laugh, the stress and anxiety of the day draining away. She leaned up to straighten his tie, a festive shade of red. 

“You know, you could have picked a better quotation for on that rose. Cupid painted blind was a tad dark don’t you think?”

“Would you like me to improve upon it?” Jack drew her closer into a full embrace. 

Phryne nodded, a shiver racing up her spine as Jack leaned in and whispered in her ear. The rumble of his voice accompanied by the words themselves made her go weak in the knees.

_And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods  
Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony._

**Author's Note:**

> _Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind._  
>  _And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind._  
>  Act 1 Scene 1 - A Midsummer Night’s Dream
> 
> _And when Love speaks, the voice of all the gods_  
>  Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony.  
> Act 4, Scene 3. - Love’s Labour’s Lost


End file.
